


The Warding Spell

by gatesmasher



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe, Humor, M/M, inspired by Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser, reads like a particularly silly session of dungeons & dragons, um...if you typically end up having sex at the end of your D&D sessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 08:37:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1421761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatesmasher/pseuds/gatesmasher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>  Jack and Daniel fight the good fight, Sword & Sorcery style. Crack!fic, maybe; Silliness definitely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Warding Spell

**Author's Note:**

> This was nominated for the 2010 GateFic Awards! Yay! It didn't win! Boo! ;-)

 

The moon rode high in a company of icy stars, clouds wisps flying across her face like tattered pennants.

Far below, on the edge of the Cold Wastes, the ruins of Castle Che’yenne shivered in the shadow of the Trollstep Mountains, clinging grimly to a craggy outcrop of granite. Curiously, for such an isolated edifice, a large stream of visitors braved the chill night air, running, loping or slithering to the outer walls and pouring through the wrecked gate. The odd host of creatures milling in the castle courtyard displayed a certain amount of hostility toward one another: steel, fang and claw clanging, slavering or rending respectively, but by far the greater share of hostility was directed up at the tall tower of the castle Keep, standing undefended and vulnerable to the foes now battering down the heavy wooden door and scaling the close-jointed granite walls.

In the highest room in the Keep, two doughty fighting men abided. One, tall and rangy, paced energetically from window to door to window, keeping a sharp watch. The other, blue of eye and broad of shoulder, reclined on the chamber’s large bed, perusing a leather-bound tome.

The tall man peered keenly through the courtyard window at the enemies arrayed against them below and reported confidently over his shoulder, “Holy Sheelba’s Shit, Daniel! There must be a thousand of the fuckers out there!”

Turning a parchment page of his book without looking up, the other man responded mildly, “We knew word of the Starry Portal would rile the locals up, Jack.”

“Yeah, it’s valuable info, but--oh, fuck, is that a Stone Giant?” There was a resounding wallop of stone meeting wall, and dust and cobwebs floated down from ceiling beams into Jack’s silver-shot hair. “Yep, Stone Giant.”

Jack brushed the cobwebs out of his hair and retrieved his helm from where he’d dropped it earlier. He placed it firmly on his head, the dull metal gleaming in the bedchamber’s hanging lamps, just in time: a black-tipped and black-feathered arrow sailed through one narrow window, pinging harmlessly off the helm’s carved crest. Jack peered out in disbelief. “Oh, for crying out loud. _Harpies_?”

“Huh. I guess Khinsy and his Mingols are going all out.”

Jack strode over to re-check the sturdiness of the chamber’s barred door, fingers drumming nervously on the hilt of his long sword. “Look, are you sure this spell will work? I can hold off a hundred of these guys, no problem, but some of those Mingols don’t fight fair.”

Daniel flipped another page of his Spell Book, scanning the flowing script intently through wire spectacles. “The spell will work, don’t worry.”

“Well, keep your Seven League Boots ready for a quick getaway just in case.”

“Can’t. I took them off.”

“Hmm? What?” Jack stood cautiously at the window again, one finger moving and pointing as he tried to count the assembled host. “Why?”

“Couldn’t get my pants off over them.”

“‘Couldn’t…’?” Jack turned and looked at his partner for the first time since entering the chamber. Even the doughtiest of fighting men are occasionally caught unawares and it took a glancing blow from another black-tipped arrow to his helm to prompt Jack into roaring, “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”

“Looking up the spell.”

Jack sputtered incoherently for a moment, then managed to thunder out, “WHY THE HELL ARE YOU NAKED?!”

The royal chamber’s bed was a spacious affair, surrounded by intricately embroidered tapestries, dressed with silky sheets and a damask blanket of rich chocolate brown. One arm curled casually high to prop up his head, Daniel rested partially under the blanket, the heavy Spell Book balanced on one hip. His smooth-skinned chest lay exposed, nipples erect in the chill air. A blanket corner draped across most of his groin, the fat mushroom tip of his cock peeking out from under the cover, laying quiescent on the inner thigh of one outstretched leg.

Peering over the tops of his spectacles, Daniel spared Jack a brief glance. “This is the way the spell needs to be cast,” he said with the patience of one used to answering foolish questions.

“Naked!? You need to be naked!?”

“Yes,” Daniel confirmed. Another page was turned while Jack waved his arms in speechless outrage, his thick hide gauntlets creaking as he flapped. “Ah, here it is, the Spell of Warding,” Daniel said. He pursed his full lips as he briefly read, then reported, “Actually, both of us need to be naked, but you have a couple minutes before I’m ready for you.”

“You want--? You want me--? Are you out of what’s left of your mind!? You want me to get naked with a thousand Mingols and their henchmen knocking at our door!?”

“If you hadn’t lost the Amulet of Warding this wouldn’t be necessary.”

Jack’s outrage deflated instantly. He dropped his eyes, making an unnecessary adjustment to the buckler shield that hung from his belt. “Didn’t lose it, Daniel. I, uh…”

“Allowed it to be pickpocketed?”

“Musta been that little Hafling rat,” Jack muttered. “Who knew he was so good?”

“Yes, must have been. Of course the fact that you drank enough tankards of sour ale to float a red-sailed sloop had nothing to do with it.”

“Did not.”

For the first time, irritation crept into Daniel’s voice and he frowned at his fellow adventurer. “You went wenching at the Silver Eel and threw yourself at a nine foot tall Ogress--”

“She was a Half-Orc and seven foot tops.”

“With breasts the size and color of watermelons--” Daniel continued doggedly.

“They were a delicate sage green.”

“So that’s why you planted your face between them.”

“No! I, uh, I thought she was you…”

“You mistook me for a seven foot tall fanged female Orc!?”

“It was smoky in the tavern and the sapphires in her necklace looked like your eyes. It was a mistake anyone could make.”

“And the mummified human ear trophies, what did you mistake them for?”

“Um…your ears?”

“How flattering.”

“Damn it, Daniel! Okay, I was drunk. Happy?”

“Ecstatic.”

“Shit!” A long tentacle snaked through one window, suckers smacking disgustingly against the wall as it quested about for purchase. Jack whipped his long sword out, the ringing steel note echoing loudly in the close-quarters. One swift stroke severed the tentacle from whatever unfortunate form it was attached to and a gurgling hoot descended down the Keep wall.

There was a laughing screech from the opposite window and Jack spun. A Harpy squirmed at the skinny opening, her winged body halfway through. Closing the distance in a few sprinted steps, Jack sheathed his sword as he moved, discarding a weapon in favor of merely fisting his hand and landing a punch square in the hag’s hideous face. Again there was a descending call from outside, a shriek in this case.

Shaking out his hand, Jack adjusted the fingerless gloves attached to his gauntlets and glared at Daniel. “Why the hell do we have to be naked anyhow?” he demanded.

Daniel had been mouthing the spell silently, memorizing it. Now he looked up in vague surprise, as if just remembering Jack was in the room. “An offering of seed must be surrendered to the Great God,” he said.

“‘Offering of seed…’?”

“We have to fuck,” Daniel explained helpfully.

Jack glanced back sharply from where he listened to the muted bangings and sawings at the chamber door. He arched a scarred brow and drawled, “Well, why didn’t you say so.” With a leer and a swagger, Jack approached the foot of the bed, one hand rubbing suggestively on the pomegranate-shaped pommel of his sword. “If fucking you will keep us safe…”

“Sorry, Jack, the caster does the fucking for this spell.”

Brown eyes narrowed. “Look, I’m not a Lankhmarese whore. I’m an honest fighting man--”

Daniel made a rude noise. “You’re a fighting man, yes.”

“I swear, Daniel…”

“When was the last time you bottomed?”

“Your birthday,” Jack answered promptly.

“And when was that?”

“Um…a few weeks ago?”

“Seven months, Jack.”

“So? I still don’t see why--”

“Do you speak Quarmall, Jack?”

“You know I don’t,” Jack ground out.

“Then relax and enjoy it. I have everything under control.”

Daniel closed the book and set it aside, reaching down to retrieve a silver flask from his pack. He poured a measure of darkfruit oil from the flask and set about warming it between his hands. Jack’s nostrils flared as the intensely sweet scent filled the room. Daniel pulled one leg up, letting it fall to the side, the blanket slipping away completely. Fully exposed now, Daniel took his dormant manhood in hand, lifting and pulling it, stroking, rubbing, kneading. The rod thickened and grew with his ministrations, gleaming in the room’s warm lamp-flame.

Jack’s tongue cleaved to his drying palate, but, clearing his throat, he managed to croak, “I have to take everything off?”

“Yes.” Daniel tugged his cock high, successively running his tightly clenched hands up the shaft.

Jack loosened the straps of his backpack. “This better work. You’re only an apprentice after all.”

Daniel removed his spectacles and let his head drop back on the bunched pillows. “It’ll work,” he murmured, pouring on more oil and combing his fingers through the furry thatch of his crotch, the honey-blond curls springing up and glimmering in his hands’ wake.

Jack’s pack thudded to the floor, contents spilling out unheeded: a leftover venison haunch from last night’s meal wrapped in wax paper, a flint and tender, a water skin, a dented cook pot, and Jack’s favorite dice, inevitably rolling a seven.

On the bed, Daniel began to chant in a throaty purr, the ancient Quarmall alternately sibilant and guttural, his tongue darting out at intervals to moisten his full lips, his hips thrusting languidly in time to the chant.

“Oh Living Hell,” Jack groaned. Trying to ignore the ominous creaks and poundings at the door behind him and the scrabblings at the windows to either side, Jack fumbled at buckles and ties, weapons clanging to the floor like a downpour of Cold Waste hail. Some embedded themselves in the pitted wooden floor-planks: shurikens of various shapes sticking blade-down, a Morningstar landing spiky head first, the hafts of a throwing axe and a wickedly hooked kama stuck quivering up in the air. Then, with heavy thuds, came an oak cudgel, a short bow with quiver, the long sword and its companion short sword, and several daggers of various sizes and workmanship. Next, a leather sling snaked down, bullets rolling helter-skelter out of an accompanying pouch. Finally, a humble pocket knife plopped down to join the exalted company.

Above the bed, strange energies hovered, attracted by Daniel’s low croon like moths to a magickal flame. Light and shadow rippled and flowed over the slowly writhing man, unnamable powers whispering at the limits of Jack’s mind, the visible world reduced to mere illusion.

Speeding up, Jack shucked the buckler shield and gauntlets, and his mismatched collection of hide and studded leather armor. Blouse and boots followed; then, with a wince and grunt of effort he got his trousers off over the prominent bulge at his groin.

Heavy lidded blue eyes watched Jack from the bed. With lazy fingers sliding over the intimate oil-slick flesh of his taut scrotum and perineum, Daniel traced patterns both complex and powerful, the shadows swirling and wheeling faster and faster around the nude man.

Only the most foolhardy would interrupt such a heady massing of power, so of course Jack spoke. “Can I at least keep my helm?”

“No.”

Jack reluctantly dropped it down to join the rest of his belongings. Lifting an arm, he gestured at the last item adorning his stripped body: a sturdy and highly carved dagger sheathed in a hidden harness. “Can I keep my poignard?”

“No.”

“But it’s plus two!”

“No.”

Swearing quietly, Jack unclipped the harness and stood uncertainly.

Daniel rose up to his knees, holding out a hand. “Up here quick, unless you want to meet the Great God with a great hard-on, buck naked.”

If his comrade’s words were not enough, there was a splintering and triumphant hooting at door. Jack scrambled to silken sheets.

Both men kneeling upright, their height difference was inconsequential, and they embraced, rigid cocks clashing, lips and tongues meeting in a kiss that didn’t last as long as Jack would have wished.

“Please turn around,” Daniel whispered hoarsely, his eyes black with desire.

Jack spun with alacrity, landing on all fours, shivering despite the warmth of the oil Daniel immediately drizzled on his backside. As the door split asunder, the metal-worked head of a portable battering ram wedging itself into the room, the blunt head of Daniel’s own portable battering ram pressed hard and purposefully against Jack’s asshole.

Daniel chanted a last few rasping words of Quarmall, gripped Jack’s hips, and thrust hard.

Jack felt he should take some note of current goings-on and, after the sobbing gasp of agonized bliss at Daniel’s entrance to his body, he observed in a pithy grunt, “Those are the triggering words for the Amulet of Warding.”

“Yes, they are,” Daniel confirmed conversationally. He partially withdrew and plunged back again, setting a demanded pace. “As you see, the Spell of Warding manifests in a similar manner to the Amulet you lost.”

A sphere formed around them, springing out in a perfect glowing globe with themselves in the center, half of the bubble understandably out of view below the bed and chamber floor.

“Now we make it grow,” Daniel stated. He resumed chanting, continuing to thrust with expert precision, Jack moaning in concert.

With a large blue Slaad lurking in the background, its frog-like mouth lined with an impressive collection of distinctly non-frog-like teeth, a host of reptilian Kobolds and dark-eyed Mingol men burst through the ruined door. The heavily armed group slid to an abrupt halt, their eyes bulging in astonishment to find the two adventurers they sought rutting madly on rumpled silken sheets.

Before the invaders comprehended their danger, the Warding sphere expanded, jumping wider in pulses timed to Daniel’s rhythm. The remorseless force pushed the would-be combatants inexorably back. Those too stupid or unlucky to make it to the door in time were pushed to walls and, while the sphere continued on through the walls, the Kobolds and Mingols did not, leaving noisome little pools behind at the baseboards. Shrieks, swearing and pounding footsteps sounded down the Keep’s staircase, the Slaad crushing its cohorts under-claw in its panic. Outside, there came a patter of falling bodies from those scaling the walls; squawks and a fluttering of feathers in the air; and slitherings, galumphings and general terrified stampeding in castle courtyard.

Jack, however, had no senses or interest to spare for his vanquished foes. His howls of ecstasy drowned out the howls from a pack of lycanthropic wolves forced through turret-sights too small to accommodate their furry forms as well as the rumbling avalanche of a Stone Giant too slow to evade a granite projection larger than itself.

By the time Daniel pumped Jack’s cock one final time and the novice mage’s cries joined Jack’s own, their hitherto dangerous predicament was forgotten. And by the time the two rogues had caught their breath and snuggled up together, Daniel curling protectively around Jack, all was quiet, save for the occasional meaty-sounding drip from turret or parapet.

“Will it last until dawn?” Jack asked, giving into a yawn.

“Yes, just like the Amulet of Warding.”

“Huh. I can always trust you to pull some trick out of your ass, Daniel.”

“No, Jack, I pulled it out of _your_ ass.”

Eventually Jack’s chuckles turned to snores, the lamplight guttered out, and the moon shone through the skinny windows, casting bright rectangles on the floor. Moving carefully, Daniel reached behind him to push the Amulet of Warding he had secreted there to a more secure hiding place under the sheets. Then he gave a satisfied hum and joined his comrade in slumber.

-end-  



End file.
